


One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M, Sado-Masochism, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Croatverse AU; Castiel never seduced Dean, he just pointed out what Dean already knew he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Castiel had never forgotten just how Dean had drawn him in. Angels didn't have the luxury of forgetting, no matter how hard they fell or how deeply they corrupted their vessels; he remembered the path to Dean he had carved through Hell, remembered the stinging winds of Lust, the stench of the flatterers. Dean had been buried deep, his soul twisted and blackened by Alastair's hands, and Castiel had pieced him back together atom by atom.

Dean had been so bright when Castiel restored him, but when Sam said yes, he might as well have thrown Dean back into Alastair's grasp for another century. Seeing Dean, the beautiful, shining creature he had fallen for alongside the ruins of the Dean who led them now was a cruel sort of blessing. A reminder of everything he fell for, of everything he had lost.

His Dean walked in on him praying for the first time in three years and laughed.

"Who are you praying to?" Dean asked, nuzzling the back of Castiel's neck with his nose.

Castiel didn't answer, let Dean take his hands and pull them apart.

"I know I'm handsome, but I'm not God."

Castiel laughed back.

No, Dean wasn't God. He used to be something better.

 

The little details liked to make themselves known through the most dramatic methods. This younger Dean had never been lovers with Castiel; when he walked in on his future self fucking Castiel he drew certain conclusions, conclusions somewhat supported by the cuffs linking Castiel's wrists and feet, by the gag between his lips.

He was furious, angry the way he used to be, clean and righteous in his wrath; he was so beautiful it hurt, even as he ordered the version of himself Castiel had learned to endure out of the room. Castiel waited for the gag to be removed, watched the relief settle in at "You didn't force me", stilling hands that had shook with guilt when they opened his cuffs.

Dean had never got over that self hatred. He learned to handle it differently, but that denial of what he deserved never went away.

Dean left, hands fisting in his hair, apologetic without ever saying sorry, and Castiel wondered at his caring enough to interfere.

 

Dean had never been a light sleeper around Castiel, always requiring a nudge or a word in order to wake up, and it was easy to slip into his bed, to drape an arm across his chest and press up against his back before he stirred.

"Hnn - Cas?"

"Mm," Castiel answered, sliding a hand down Dean's chest to his stomach until Dean caught his wrist.

"Don't," Dean said.

"Would you have watched," Castiel didn't force his hand any lower, but let his fingers draw patterns through the hairs on Dean's stomach. "If you knew I wanted it?"

"I didn't know."

"But would you?" Castiel pushed, feeling the heat in Dean's skin turn feverish. "Sometimes you don't just tie me up. You're so angry, now. You see what I can take -"

"That's not me," Dean said, breaths short and uneven. "I won't become that, I won't."

"But you did," Castiel replied, letting his fingers drift lower as Dean's hold loosened, brushing lightly over the familiar shape of Dean's cock through his boxer briefs. "Four fingers, a beer bottle; you keep threatening to try your fist -" he gripped tighter, stroking. "Been a while since this was for me, not just the first warm body you could fuck."

"I can't," Dean said, throwing off the blanket and almost running for the washroom, closing the door behind himself. Castiel didn't need omniscience to guess what was happening inside.

"Dean -"

"Just don't," Dean replied, voice calming down rather than heating up, and Castiel knew his guess had been incorrect. Dean was hiding something, something that had him on the cusp of saying 'yes' but forced him to hold back.

"Okay," Castiel said, waiting for Dean to go quiet before walking over and pressing his ear to the washroom door.

That cabin didn't echo. There were two bodies breathing behind that door.

 

The two Deans had enough to talk about - and hide - without bothering to spy on each other, but Castiel was not as far gone on drugs and alcohol as they thought. Good memory, excellent fighting technique, terrible plan-making - Dean's skills had changed little over the years, and he had always been a poor liar. An easily distracted poor liar at that, and arranging for Dean to be kept away from his room long enough for Castiel to sneak into it was almost embarrassingly easy.

Seeing both Deans together had been strange, but it was stranger still to see himself sleeping on the floor in Dean's washroom, trenchcoat, jacket and tie discarded but all else left in place. Dean had been afraid to strip him any further, had likely feared it would mean something. Had likely _known_ it would mean something.

Castiel walked over and pressed his past self's lips open with two fingers, curious to see if he would wake up. How close to falling would he have been back then? Sleep was one of the first signs of falling, regular sleep one of the last.

He didn't remember any of this. This Castiel was from a world that had ceased to be, or hadn't yet happened.

White eyes shot open before fading to blue. "You're not a shifter."

"No."

"What happens to us?"

Castiel knew one kindness he could do for himself. "You don't want to find out." He leaned closer, remembered how curious he was once upon a time about his vessel, about the world, and how circumstances at the time had forced him to keep still and quiet, a prisoner in his own skin. "Have you ever wondered -"

His past self answered before he could ask, cupping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Castiel had kissed seventeen other pairs of lips, remembered the feel of every last one, but he had never before kissed someone whose taste he knew before he ever learned the shape of their mouth.

For all that he now ate and smoked and drank, his body was still the same.

His past self's eyes were bright but dazed, and Castiel started unbuttoning his shirt, trailing his fingers over skin he knew the look of from above, or reversed in a mirror.

He had chosen his vessel well, though he missed the company he once had inside it.

"Kiss me again," his past self ordered, still self-righteous enough to give commands freely.

"There's a bed in the other room," Castiel pointed out, blinking when he found himself flat on that same bed in an instant, pinned in place by his wrists.

"Is this preferable?"

Castiel licked his lips, watched his own eyes tracking the movement, hands not budging from where they were held. "Take what you want," he said, wishing he could have that strength once again. "I'm you. I'm yours."

He had always been a quick learner, but he was even faster with a good teacher.

 

Liquor had its uses, but there was nothing as perfectly distracting as sex, and with a hot, eager mouth on his cock and his own lips similarly occupied, he could be forgiven for missing Dean's presence until he noticed the sudden draft.

"Jesus," Dean said.

Castiel pulled back and tilted his head, let his past self's cock brush against his cheek; he'd performed for his Dean enough to know his tastes, and Dean's visible arousal suggested he appreciated the effort.

"Close the door behind you," Castiel said. "And come here."

His past self hadn't seemed to notice the drop in temperature, though that was more likely on account of his being on edge in Dean's presence rather than the strength of his grace. He had worshipped Dean to the point of blasphemy, once.

"Cas - Castiel - what -"

"You still fantasise about it," Castiel said. "Twins. We're close enough."

Dean moved as if working on autopilot, closing the door tight before watching Castiel wrap a hand around his past self's erection, keeping his mouth free for the time being.

"But you're an _angel_."

Castiel rolled his eyes at feeling cool air on his cock, his past self snapping, "As was Anna."

The same arguments, same flawed reasoning all over again, and Castiel rid everyone of words when he returned his attention to sucking and licking, already knowing the taste courtesy of his Dean having fed it to him enough times in the heat of the moment, and twice as punishment.

The resultant mewl was unsurprising, and given he had always possessed an exhibitionist streak Castiel couldn't blame his past self for coming quickly from well-practised lips on his cock and Dean's eyes watching.

Pushing himself aside so he could climb out of the bed was easier than expected, and Castiel felt Dean flinch at the press of Castiel's hand against the tented part of his jeans. "I'm not - Cas, I don't -"

"Dean, I'm not asking for a favour. I'm telling you not to waste another year pretending you don't want me."

Castiel hadn't been kissed like it mattered in a long time, and Castiel had no objections to Dean shoving him back against the wall, even if the threat of splinters made him wince instinctively.

"Did you fuck him?" Dean asked, unbuckling his jeans and unzipping them, shoving them roughly down his thighs.

"I was tempted," Castiel replied, gasping when Dean took both their cocks in one hand, squeezing them together before jerking roughly, desperate.

"Why not?"

Castiel grinned even though it hurt, looked up at the ceiling to a father who never listened. "Because he's still waiting for you."

Dean cursed before kissing him again, off-kilter and clumsy, and Castiel hated himself for responding to it, pulling Dean's hair in one hand and holding him close with the other.

 

Dean's vest took most of the damage when they both came, Castiel first and Dean not long after, and it was hard to stay standing on nearly human legs. Dean didn't seem to mind sitting on the floor, or having Castiel lean his head on Dean's shoulder, though he drew the line there.

"He - you came after me," Dean said, sounding confused. "When Zachariah threw me here. When d'you think I can go back?"

"When he wakes up," Castiel replied. "That's all the rest he needs, if his grace is as strong as I think." Castiel closed his eyes, and let his hand rest against Dean's without trying to grip. "Will you wait until after you shoot Lucifer? I think you were meant to watch."

"Lucifer's going to kill me the second he sees me," Dean said. "I'm not suicidal."

"He won't," Castiel insisted. "You're not meant to die yet."

Dean tensed up. "You just want me to see the end, don't you?"

"It's why you're here, isn't it?"

Dean tilted his hand, rubbed his thumb in a circle on Castiel's palm. "Happy ever after."

"In your timeline, maybe," Castiel said, opening his eyes briefly to glance over at himself, sleeping almost peacefully without a drop or gram of chemical assistance. That version of himself hadn't fallen all the way, was not yet irredeemable or destroyed. It was a version of himself with the confidence and clarity of vision to make a difference.

He remembered a time when he didn't hate himself. He would have given anything not to start.

"Dean," he said, because if he didn't say it now, no version of himself would ever stand a chance of his last wish coming true, "When you go back to save the world, see if you can save me too."

 

It was Dean who had lured him in originally, with a spirit that was once beautiful and a strength of conviction more compelling than any direct orders. It was Dean who had kept him on Earth, who had promised to put things right if given enough time. It was Dean who had trapped him.

It was only fair Dean should be the one to set him free.

 

The End


End file.
